


Noxious

by Inebri



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alfred taking care of a houseguest's needs like a good butler, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, comes off as a bit one-sided tbh, i failed at making this absolutely filthy, pheromone bomb, probably not Season 2 compliant, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 17:24:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8410225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inebri/pseuds/Inebri
Summary: Jim stops for a minute to pant heavily against the slimy sewer wall, fighting the urge to just lie down and hump the mold-ridden walkway. He’s been down here for what seemed like hours, going around in circles, as if a nice little jaunt through Gotham’s smelliest could somehow oust the effects of Generic Gotham Villain of the Week’s pheromone bomb.A goddamned pheromone bomb. Jim had survived a near brush with a whole canister of potent Viper, but all it takes to actually bring him down is something out of Baby Evil’s First Mayhem.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [M493](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M493/gifts).



> written June 25th, 2016.
> 
> my one attempt at playing in the Gotham sandbox.

 

 

Even the stench of the sewage couldn’t smother the arousal tenting his trousers.

Jim stops for a minute to pant heavily against the slimy sewer wall, fighting the urge to just lie down and hump the mold-ridden walkway. He’s been down here for what seemed like hours, going around in circles, as if a nice little jaunt through Gotham’s smelliest could somehow oust the effects of Generic Gotham Villain of the Week’s pheromone bomb.

A goddamned _pheromone bomb_. Jim had survived a near brush with a whole _canister_ of potent Viper, but all it takes to actually bring him down is something out of _Baby Evil_ _’s First Mayhem_.

Moreover, he wasn’t actively targeted this time; just unfortunate. Granted, he shouldn’t have tried to investigate why the manhole cover a few streets away from his favorite hole-in-the-wall was billowing green smoke in the middle of the night, but honestly he wasn’t expecting to be bludgeoned and dumped into the sewers in exchange for his endless curiosity.

When he woke up, he found himself smack dab in the thick of the smoke, feeling like he’d spent the whole evening edging the precipice of orgasm. He frantically tried to jerk himself off in the first few minutes to get rid of that breathless feeling, but to no avail. Sheer resolve got him out of the smoke cloud but then he was inexplicably lost, left to wander the sewers with a raging hard-on battering against the zipper of his slacks.

Wiping away the suspicious wet smudge on his cheek where he had rested it against the wall, Jim pushes himself forward a few more steps to the next open tunnel, whereupon the sight of an unexpected sewer exit hails him like a vision of heaven.  Limping awkwardly around the rigid flesh between his legs, Jim passes through the wide gaps between the rusted iron bars to find himself in a familiar neighborhood. Sure enough, after a few minutes of more limping he spies the red-brick façade of Wayne Manor, quietly illuminated by the streetlights.

Wayne Manor, the residence of Bruce Wayne and one Alfred Pennyworth.

At the thought of the older man, a full-body shiver runs its course throughout Jim’s feverish body. That should probably be alarming in itself but Jim’s finding it hard to argue against the part of his brain screaming Alfred could _help_. Maybe. Before he knows it he’s pressing the doorbell to the Manor and wishing fervently Bruce wouldn’t be the one answering the door.

He needn’t have worried. Alfred, impeccable in his suit as always, was the one to greet him upon opening the door and by the furrow of the man’s brow and the scrunch of his nose, Jim figures out he’s not exactly winning points with his disheveled appearance. “Bloody hell, what bog did you crawl out of?”

Jim catches himself giving Alfred a quick once-over and gulps. “I… just… can I borrow your shower?”

“And have you gallivanting on my clean carpets in that state? You must be joking,” growls Alfred. To his absolute mortification, Jim feels his dick twitch in his pants. Purely by reflex, he tries to cover the slight movement with his hand, which obviously draws Alfred’s gaze right to his crotch. “Is that…?”

Jim flushes under Alfred’s scrutiny. “It’s not what it looks like. There was… some sort of a pheromone explosion in the sewers…”

“Alfred, is that Jim? Let him in.” Bruce’s voice carries down the stairs, the boy peeking over the barrister with a folder in his hand.

“Master Bruce, he’s just been in the _sewers_.”

“Well he’s been in worse, I’m sure. Prepare a bath for him, please.”

Alfred sighs with great suffering, grudgingly stepping aside to allow Jim to slink in with all his slop. The butler quickly guides him to one of the larger bathrooms on the ground floor. “I’m sure you’re well aware, but there’s no saving that suit, mate.”

“Figured as much.” Jim clears his throat as Alfred locks the bathroom door behind them. “I can take it from here—”

“Master Bruce ordered me to prepare a bath for you, and I’m not one to disobey my master’s orders.” The butler intones flatly, disappearing behind a partition to presumably get the hot water running.

With Alfred firmly out of sight, Jim plants his hands on either side of the sink and tries to get his breathing back under control. It’s undeniable that being in close proximity to the older man is doing _something_ to his libido, but surely it’s the work of the pheromones? He’s never even contemplated guys as an _option_ , let alone ex-Royal Marine butlers with raspy Cockney accents.

Shaking his head, Jim turns on the cold tap and splashes his face a couple of times with freezing cold water. When he looks up through dripping eyelashes at the mirror, he sees Alfred staring right back at him and jumps a little in his skin.

“So... a pheromone explosion, you say?” The older man asks conversationally, like he’s affirming tomorrow’s weather forecast.

Jim can feel the tips of his ears burning. “I saw smoke coming out of a manhole cover,” he blurts, quite uncharacteristically. “Thought I’d look into it… but someone knocked me out and dropped me in. I was already like this when I came to.”

“You always did like to stick your nose in it, don’t you?” Alfred’s voice sounds chagrinned. “Have you tried taking care of it on your own?”

They both knew what Alfred was referring to. “At least three times. Maybe more. Look, I know this situation is… not ideal, but I swear I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I get the worse of the grime off me and—” Jim’s thoughts stutter. Could he really rub one out in someone else’s house?

“Just leave you to it? On the contrary, I’m finding all this a right lark, odor notwithstanding.” Alfred’s right next to him now, arms crossed, hip resting casually on the edge of the vanity top. It’s as relaxed as Jim’s ever seen him. He subtly inches away, abruptly reminded of the effect the other man has on him, cock straining to be touched.

Alfred ignores his attempts to put distance between them and gingerly reaches to pull off the detective’s ruined suit jacket, depositing it into the large metal bin under the sink. He hooks one finger under the knot of Jim’s tie, pulling carefully, unraveling the loops so the cloth slides silkily away from around his neck to fall to the floor. Alfred rests his fingertips on the buttons of Jim’s shirt collar and pauses, gaze flicking to Jim’s own, and only then did he realize they’re close enough to—

“Do you need my help, detective?”

“N-No. I can… take care of this. Myself.”

“You don’t sound very convincing,” breathes Alfred into Jim’s ear, eliciting a barely suppressed moan from him. Alfred trails his hand lightly downwards, over Jim’s shirt, brushing every-so-slightly against the bulge in his trousers before pulling away completely to rest on the vanity top. Jim shudders, whole body trembling in arousal, wanting to simultaneously push Alfred away and ask Alfred to jack him off till his cock chafes red.

Why does it have to be Alfred? Why not Leslie, or Barbara, or hell, Montoya? The answer to that would probably need a measure of soul-searching. Truth be told, Jim couldn’t really think clearly right now to reliably parse through his mind’s myriad reasoning, so he’s going to have to go with his gut feelings. They’ve never failed him in the past, have they?

His hand shoots out to grip Alfred’s wrist. To hell with it. “You’re right. I’m not convincing anyone like this. Nor do I want to.”

Alfred simply stares at him for the longest time.

“Alfred,” whispers Jim, his voice breaking like his resolve the longer Alfred remains indifferent, “I-I _need_.”

“What is it that you need, detective?” Alfred leans in close again, words a rough purr vibrating against Jim’s heated skin. “Go on, I’m all ears.”

Jim grits his teeth, impatient. Alfred’s playing him like a fiddle. “Touch me. I need you to t-touch.” At the older man’s raised eyebrow, Jim adds, “Please.”

Alfred seizes the hand that held his wrist and spins Jim around so that he’s pinned to the edge of the vanity top, bulge trapped against Alfred’s hip. The sudden pressure sends a bolt of pleasure through Jim’s spine and he lets out a low groan, hip jerking in the aftermath. “Oh god, Alfred.”

“Let’s rid you of these rank trousers, yeah?” Alfred flicks the button of Jim’s slacks open and tugs down his zipper in one smooth move, pulling carefully at the seat of the slacks to strip the unsalvageable garment from Jim’s skin. He was just about to pull off the man’s undergarments as well but Jim stops him, opting to do it himself, needing at least some semblance of control over the proceedings. Alfred wordlessly lets him, working on Jim’s shirt instead, easily unbuttoning the cloth with one hand while the other caresses the skin accessible through the gap between the slack material of the shirt.

Alfred’s warm fingertips find their way to a nipple and _flicks it_ , making Jim gasp and curl into himself, dick spurting warm precum onto his shirt. Alfred smirks down at him with tightly controlled composure, seemingly satisfied that he could reduce the detective to _this_. Jim couldn’t find it in him to fight the man, more intent on chasing the pleasure that little flick granted him, needing more. He reaches down and grips himself, body arching into Alfred’s hands, silently pleading the older man to indulge him.

But Alfred does no such thing. He takes away his hands and uses them to peel back Jim’s unbuttoned shirt instead, discarding it into the bin along with the detective’s trousers and underwear, then steps back and admires the sight of the utterly wrecked man before him, deftly stroking his shaft in pursuit of release.

“Alfred, t-touch me,” pants Jim, hanging desperately to the edge of the vanity top, waiting for Alfred’s next move. “Please… please.”

“We can hardly let the hot bath I’ve prepared for you go to waste, can we?”

“What? I’m this close to busting my nut and you want me to—”

“Get in the bath and I might just suck you off after, now don’t that sound nice?”

Jim shuts up so fast that his jaw clacks. He nods jerkily and follows Alfred beyond the partition to a large bathtub filled with steaming water. A strong citrus scent wafts from the tub, cutting sharply through Jim’s senses. He looks back towards Alfred, who only gestures for him to get in, which he does. Jim hisses when the hot water laps against his chilled skin, sinking into the tub until the water reaches his nipple line.

He scrubs cursorily at his legs, keeping an eye on Alfred who’s slowly taking off his suit jacket, hanging it by the door. The man deliberately folds his sleeves up to his elbows, revealing clear lines of muscle etched in war and strife. Alfred may treat his past with nonchalance most times, but it’s hard to ignore what years of service in the Royal Marines have carved into his body.

Jim palms himself under the water, moaning breathlessly at the thought of what that body can do to him.

“Just look at you," mutters Alfred, moving to stand next to the tub. Jim cranes his neck to look up at him, throat exposed, swallowing at the featherlight touches of Alfred's fingers caressing the line of his stapedius. "So bloody impatient."

"Try being exposed to a fog of pheromones, it does that to a man."

Alfred chuckles. Jim honestly doesn't find it very funny, how every effort he made to purge the effects of the pheromones brings him nowhere near to an end for his ache. But he knows for sure that Alfred's touch helps - if only the man would do _more_. Even now, as he's rubbing the tip of his penis with an errant thumb under the deceptively calm surface of the water, Jim's ever hopeful for the moment when Alfred would finally decide to act on his earlier promise.

Instead, Alfred balls up a cloth from a cabinet nearby and swipes it across Jim's skin, hand slipping underwater. Jim startles when Alfred's hand comes close to his grip on his dick, but the older man doesn't do anything to impede his strokes, seemingly intent only on helping to remove the rest of the filth and naught else.

Jim’s ragged breaths contrast strongly to Alfred calm demeanor. Frustrated that he seems to be the only one affected by the whole affair, Jim once again grabs ahold of Alfred’s wrist under the water and nudges it closer to his dick, blushing hotly at Alfred’s considering gaze. “You said… you’d suck me off.”

“I did, didn’t I.” Alfred hums noncommittally, hand breaking free and skirting Jim’s engorged member to press at the spot just behind his balls. Jim keens, back arching, seeing stars at the periphery of his vision as Alfred persistently massages that spot.

“H-Holy shit… Alfred, I can’t hold on, I’m—”

“Come out of the water then. Let me look at you.”

“No, I’m so close, just a little bit more…”

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

Jim groans, flopping over the side of the tub as he concentrates his remaining strength in his arms, lifting himself bodily out of the water. He stands shakily on his feet as Alfred sluices the last of the dirt from his skin with a gentle spray of water from a showerhead. The fact that the butler’s clothes are still completely dry despite his actions irritates Jim somewhat, but it’s just a mark of Alfred’s professional skill.

What _isn_ _’t_ a mark of the man’s professional skill is his eagerness to fall to his knees and _suck Jim_ _’s brains right out from his dick_ , which came as such a surprise to the detective that he almost topples backwards into the tub of dirty water. Thankfully Alfred has both his wrists in a strong hold and so he ends up perching on the edge of the tub instead, hanging on for dear life as Alfred tongues his slit and greedily suctions the cum right out of his tubes.

Jim’s feels his stomach muscles contracting within a microsecond delay of the orgasm bursting from his balls. The cry ripping itself out of his throat seems foreign, ratcheting off the walls like an animalistic roar. He’s suspended in that white-out of pleasure for a fleeting moment before his limbs loosen all at once and he falls forwards without grace into Alfred’s arms, panting heavily into the junction between the other man’s neck and shoulder.

“Did that take the edge off?”

Jim couldn’t answer for a couple of minutes, systems still short-circuiting from sensory overload. He does however note with a touch of glee that he’d plastered himself very wetly to Alfred in his post-orgasmic spasm, dark patches of water blooming on the man’s expensive vest. “How…?”

“You learn to make do in the Corps,” Alfred informs matter-of-factly, easily lifting Jim away from the tub to a bench near the vanity top. Jim half-registers Alfred wiping him dry with a soft towel but aside from the vague awareness that he’d seemed to ejaculate all the offending pheromones out of his body in a single spurt, he feels almost boneless.

He doesn’t remember being dressed in a loose robe and assisted to a guest bedroom, Alfred’s touches gentle and unobtrusive as the man helps him settle into the large bed. Doesn’t remember Bruce coming in to bid him goodnight with a knowing smile, or the exaggerated roll of Alfred’s eyes when Bruce turns the smile to his butler.

They leave him to enjoy a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

“Morning, detective.” Alfred greets him the next day as he blearily enters the manor’s kitchen, blinking against the sunlight shafting through the windows. “Rough night, eh.” The butler says with a wink, sliding him a plate of pancakes across the counter drizzled generously with honey.

Jim feels the flush rising in his skin as he wisely decides not to reply and instead takes up Bruce’s invitation to sit at the table. The young master has his nose stuck in a large newspaper which completely dwarfs him, hiding him completely from view aside from his slender fingers gripping the edge of the pages.

Jim takes the opportunity to steal glances at Alfred at the counter, watching the man work, perfectly adapted to the homely kitchen. A few more minutes of this and Alfred finally turns directly to face him, as if he knew all along Jim had been observing his movements. The older man beckons Jim over with his eyes. No longer under the influence of the pheromones and thus not hounded by a sense of urgency, Jim takes his sweet time finishing his pancakes before heeding the call under the pretense of dropping his plate in the dishwasher.

“Cheeky, are you?”

Jim smirks at Alfred’s annoyed tone. “Who, me?”

“Did your American schools ever teach you to never answer a question with another question, detective?”

“No, but I guess they overlooked that bit of the curriculum in British schools too.” Jim ribs good-naturedly, smiling when a bested Alfred chooses to ignore his remark. “Thanks, Alfred. For… last night. I, uh… vaguely recall my lack of reciprocation. I’d like to remedy that. Sometime.”

“I was just doing my duty to you as the manor’s guest, that’s all. I don’t need any recompense,” answers Alfred coolly, straining coffee into three mugs. “But if you do get hit again by a pheromone bomb next time, do have the presence of mind to fall into a field of flowers and not a river of Gotham’s finest shit.”

Jim laughs as he accepts a mug of coffee, feeling the warmth seeping through his fingers like the gentle heat blooming in his heart. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

 


End file.
